Yesterday marked one month since the first case of COVID-19, the disease caused by the Coronavirus, was confirmed in the United States. This confirmed case was reported in Kirkland, Washington, just 3 miles away from our home. From that moment forward, our world started slowly–and then very rapidly–coming to a halt. Coronavirus had come to our community (How dare it?!) and our lives began to change day by day, moment by moment.
First the schools started to close. And then all of the schools closed. Then we started E-learning. And then E-learning was shut down and our beloved teachers were effectively given a government-mandated gag order. Then the restaurants started shutting down. And then all of the restaurants shut down. And then all of the parks closed. And then all of the gyms and the movie theaters and the dentists and doctors offices closed.
Little by little our big, open world began to shrink until all that was left was our own homes. And that is where we find ourselves today. Many parts of the country–and the world–are in a literal lockdown to try and stop the spread of this virus. This virus that, three short months ago, nobody had ever even heard of. And it’s all just so…crazy. Never in a million years would any of us have predicted something like this could happen, let alone that it actually would happen. To us. Here. Right now.
With all of this change, I’ve definitely done some grieving. I’ve grieved over the communities around the world that have been shattered by sickness and death. I’ve grieved over the European vacation that we had to cancel. I’ve grieved over the friends and family that I desperately want to see but am not allowed to be in contact with. I’ve grieved over the pace and routine of life that I used to have. I’ve grieved over an unknown future.
As I was thinking about this grief, it reminded me of the 5 stages of grief that psychologists use to describe the stages we go through while mourning. And, perhaps not surprisingly, the stages fit quite well with what I’m experiencing right now with my own Coronavirus Grief.
- Denial and Isolation
The first stage is to deny the reality of the situation: “This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.”When we first started seeing news clips about this strange new virus that had surfaced in China, it felt very distant. And even when the news moved much closer to home (the first couple dozen confirmed US COVID-19 cases, and deaths, all happened right there in our community), it still felt like something beyond me. It felt like something happening to others, but it wouldn’t actually touch my life in any tangible way. I was happy enough to ignore it and try to move on with my life.
But before long, the Coronavirus did start to touch my life in tangible ways. And I didn’t like it. At all. When my kids’ schools started closing and the very-important-things I did in my life all started getting cancelled I was mad. The injustice! I resented the virus, a thing that does not care one iota how I feel about it. And then I would feel guilty for being angry about my very-important-things being cancelled when there were much bigger problems in the world…and that would make me feel even more angry.
So as I continued my journey of feeling helpless and powerless I attempted to regain control through my actions. If only I could organize our days at home better the time would pass more easily. If only I could write letters to our political leaders, they would give us access to our education again or impose orders that would keep people safer and healthier. If only I could do something different, something more, then things would all be better.
But things have not gotten better, at least not here. We’ve had neighbors die. Our healthcare workers are being forced to reuse personal protective equipment because they don’t have enough supplies to tend to the large number of patients. Our friends and family members are becoming unemployed. We miss people and places and just a basic sense of freedom. And all of these things are, well, sad. The loss we are experiencing day-in and day-out is a heavy burden to carry. It. Is. Hard.
Despite it all, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Eventually, and after much exasperation, I have come to realize that there is, in fact, nothing I could do to change these circumstances. I am not responsible for what has happened, I am not responsible for the actions of other people, I am not responsible for the policies that are put into place during these times.I am responsible for one thing, and one thing only: me. And that, I can change for the better. I can choose to find joy each day. I can choose to help others. I can choose to do what I think is right. I can choose to throw out the rule book and eat ice cream for breakfast. I can pray. I can choose love and hope in the midst of pain and confusion. And in the end, I know that this will make a difference. Probably not for the world, but for my world.So that is where I’m at today, approximately one month in to our foray of worldwide pandemics. I will continue to look for the good, to love mine the best that I can, and eat lots of home-baked carbs along the way (Trust me, the carbs help.).
And some day–maybe 3 weeks from now, or maybe a year from now–we will come out of this thing. We will come out as changed people, because grief never allows us to remain the same. We will look back at what we have overcome and how we persevered, and we will be better for it.
We’ve got this, friends! I can’t wait to see you on the other side, better than ever.